The Mummy wants to be an action/adventure/romance/horror/superhero flick but isn’t very good at being any.
In the end, the real cause of ‘superhero fatigue’ was other blockbusters pretending to be superhero movies. I don’t have much to say about this one. Partly because I can’t be bothered, but also mostly because I can’t be bothered. My big takeaway from The Mummy was its constant case of identity crisis. One moment it shows glimpses of playful Indiana Jones-esque awe and adventure, the next it opts for high octane Mission: Impossible stunts and theatrics. You really get your money’s worth with a tortured love story that somehow evolves from a quip about Tom Cruise’s lack of stamina in the bedroom, plus cringe comedy that goes light on the yucks and heavy on the- you get it. Throw in the now-obligatory table-setting for a (potentially intriguing) shared universe and you’ve basically got yourselves an incompetent Marvel movie. Sprinkled in amongst all the noise is every single horror cliché in the book (Alex Kurtzman’s idea of catering to hardcore genre fans?), and a pervading sense that this film would be a lot better if Cruise was wearing tight spandex. Put that on the posters Universal.
The best thing this movie ever did was accidentally releasing a clip of Tom Cruise screaming without musical accompaniment.